


Fred

by ourdancingdays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdancingdays/pseuds/ourdancingdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look so much like him, you know." </p><p>"That's not an answer, Dad." </p><p>"To what, Fred?" </p><p>Me. </p><p>/ Fred, George, and the art of remembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fred

"Look, Dad-" You woke up, looked around and saw me standing there. You asked me, "Fred - when'd you get up?" I didn't answer. "You always get up last."

But I didn't - I had always been an early riser.

* * *

Do you remember how people used to look at me and say, "You look just like your uncle." 

And you would sigh, and say, "What, and I don't?"

There was always an awkward silence and I don't think you realised just how much your words hurt. (Those people stopped looking.) 

* * *

Then there were the times you said, "I don't know where you got your seriousness from," because  _he_ wasn't serious and you were waiting for me to be the next generation, two in one. But you weren't the reckless twin, Dad, and you seemed to forget that he was only my Uncle. 

* * *

There were the family reunions and everybody laughed and joked and pretended that everything was okay. I played along, and so did you.

Then someone brought up Uncle Fred, the taboo name, and Mum had to excuse herself.

She wasn't going to the bathroom just to touch up her make-up, was she? 

* * *

"George, who's this little boy?"

It was the question that was always asked and I coughed and blushed and cursed my Weasley complexion.

"This is Fred. My... son." How come you always stumbled over that word? Was it so hard to link the name Fred with me? I was not  _him,_ Daddy. 

* * *

"But, wasn't Angelina Fred's girlfriend?" Even though it was years after they went to the Yule Ball together, a story I had heard a thousand times before, people still had confusion etched onto their faces.

"She was," was all you answered, because however much you denied it, your relationship was built on memories and regrets and both of you trying to hold on. But I was still your son. 

* * *

"Look, Dad-"

"Sorry, not now Freddie. I'm going to visit Uncle Fred." How come it was always Uncle Fred and not Uncle Fred's  _grave?_ That was what you were really visiting, wasn't it? Don't lie, Dad. 

* * *

"Will you  _listen_ to me?"

"I  _am,_ " you said, distracted. Anyone could tell you were lost in memories again.

"Are you?" I whispered, and you blinked at the change of tone.

"You look so much like him, you know," you said off handedly, and it might have seemed as though it was out of the blue, but I could see your thought process. It was not a change in subject for you.

"That's not an answer, Dad."

"To what, Fred?"

Me. 

* * *

" _Look_ at me!" I finally screamed.

"I  _am!"_ you yelled back, and it was odd, because you rarely shouted, not when I was just a living memory of the person you never  _had_ to shout at.

"No you're not! I'm  _me,_ Dad,  _Fred Joseph Weasley._ I'm not your twin! I'm not  _that_ Fred, so  _when_ will you start seeing me and not him?"

"Go to your room."

There was a silence. "We're in my room, Dad."

"Oh." 

* * *

"I got you Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans - I know how they're your favourite."

I didn't have the heart to tell you I preferred liquorice wands. 

* * *

"Fred! No, Fred!"

It was 2 am, and it was cold, and it was dark, but I still stumbled into your room. Mum had moved next door again, because you were keeping her up in the night and distracting her from her own memories.

"It's okay, I'm here..."

"Fred! Freddie, you're alive..."

"Of course I'm - oh." It took me a while to realise I was not  _that_ Fred Weasley. 

* * *

"Mum, where's Dad?"

"He's with Uncle Fred, honey, left side, as always. I thought he told you he was going out?"

"Does he ever?"

She didn't answer, as I'd already left the room. 

* * *

"Dad, you okay?"

"Fred?" He turned from where he was kneeling at Fred Weasley's gravestone. It had been years since I'd seen it. "Sorry, I was just checking up on the stone."

"The stone," I repeated.

"Yeah. It's looking better don't you think? He'd be appalled, but oh well." You flashed a grin at me. "Should we start heading back, then?" 

* * *

"Look, Dad," I paused, waiting for you to interrupt. You didn't. "Dad, I don't want to take over Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. There's a job going at Gringotts - Uncle Bill's got me an apprenticeship there and..."

"Sure, son," you said, and you smiled, almost a melancholy smile. "I got you some liquorice wands from the shop."

I wanted to say thank you, but the words failed me. You smiled properly again. "I hear you, Fred."


End file.
